The boy. All rounded edges and soft angles. He always smells vaguely sweet, like pancakes with real maple syrup on them. My sensitive one, your tone of voice can lay him flat out in agony if you're not careful. He always takes a chubby hand and gently pat pat pats your back when he hugs you. His cheeks get bright red in any kind of heat and his ears get hot to the touch. He doesn't really like pizza or ice cream but he'll manage in a tight spot. He is forever watching his Papa and imitating him. He both loves and fears the cat. He is always walking around with a bruise or two on his forehead. He loves riding in the car and he sits in the back singing and humming and holding an entire discourse on the things he is seeing. He is all boy, he loves tools and cars and machines, swords and guns. He is settling in fine and I am so, so glad I got to have a little boy all my own.
The girl. Sharp as a tack. Witty and funny. My compulsive talker. My obsessive planner. The single most stubborn being that God has ever seen fit to put on the planet. She can melt my heart with a single glance. The little mother who worries constantly over Liam but will not hesitate to "instruct" him. Those dark dancing eyes of hers hold so much love and kindness and wisdom. We call her a crackling, sizzling live wire and that's just what she is. SHE smells like hot embers in a fire. She is a perpetual motion machine. She is as deep as the ocean and as wide as a summer sky. She holds her cards close to her chest but when she loves you and lets you in, she will never, ever let you down or betray your trust. This is my first child, the one that made me a mother. My sweet girl.
The two of them together have made me grow so much as a person. They have made it possible for me to dig deep and to keep finding bigger and better versions of myself. We have found solace and family in each other. I want to hold them just where they are, to never let go of them. But I am also desperately curious to see what they can do in this world. I love to grab them up and hold them against me and feel their hearts beating and the breath in their bodies. I love to hold my face against their heads and smell their hair. I love to hear them laughing. I love the way my husband looks when he is with them, holding them or kung fu-ing with them.
How can any one mother stand such love?
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